The Time Wayfarer
by marcuscis
Summary: There's a time traveler mucking up Dumbledore's plans. It's shocking enough having Riddle 'pop' out of nowhere, now Potter is stepping to a new tune. Rumors of the traveler making a treaty with Lord Voldemort rises and whispers of a war on three fronts is edging closer. What in Merlin's beard is going on? A cup of:HP/TR a dash of:LV/HP and a sprinkle of:OMC/DM makes my Slashfic.
1. prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or its characters, this fanfiction makes no money.**

**I'm playing hit and misses with stories to see what will be worth my while writing. I'll keep trying and maybe one of these will finally explode in popularity. Then maybe not.**

**Key: **'Phrase' _'Thinking' __"Parseltounge"_ _~Parselscript~_ **Headliners & Letterheads**

**Well, any good story starts with a prologue so...**

* * *

><p><strong>~*The Time Wayfarer*~<strong>

**~Prologue~**

**~*.*~**

Even though the time of day is half past brunch, a faint mist clings to the streets of London as scattered showers patter against cobblestones. Luxury automobiles speed along, besides the rumbling one-way trains, the shiny windows up and polished doors locked. Few pedestrians move from place to place with quick steps and heads down, faces concealed against high coat collars. Those, homeless and jobless, growing in numbers, stare from under stooped alleys with sunken sockets. Only several businesses remain open, the busier stores or industrial warehouses. Banners for propaganda and corporative commercial advertising litter the brick walls and light posts.

These are dreary times.

One lone trolley slows to a halt, its engine rattling and doors squealing open to let out a handful of passengers. Among the solemn group is a young boy on the cusp of manhood.

In a thick knitwear vest with a dark cloak resting over an arm, Tom Riddle departs the meager muggles who work labor hours during lunch shift. Grey orbs sweep the darkening street, watching the withdrawn folk scatter like roaches to safer and warmer havens. '_Such loathsome creatures.'_ He thinks. Stride steady, he makes his way down a block passing a stack of soggy papers sitting forgotten on the side of the gutter. Tom glances at the headliner:

**JAPAN STRIKES AUSTRALIAN SOIL!**

The muggle war continues.

With steely eyes, Tom rounds a corner and discreetly enters the local pub named the Leaky Cauldron. The atmosphere is only slightly chipper in here as the wizards also face their own hidden war between the Ministry and Dark Lord Grindelwald. He scoffs to himself, issuing blank features to the outward world. Some Dark Lord the German wizard is turning out to be; too scared to enter British soil with the absurd Professor Dumbledore around and even sinking as low as using_ muggle_ politics for his own gain. True it is sneaky and a bit clever, but if Tom was a Dark Lord… '_I wouldn't be hiding from my enemies. I would proudly stand before them and trample over them all like the trash under my shoes. I would hunt them down and drag them out of their own homes to instill true terror. Nowhere will be safe for them, they shall fear to stand against me. They shall fear to utter my name!'_

"Afternoon little Tom! Come for a visit?"

The young male fights the slight ticking of muscles under a regal nose, trying not to let his hidden sneer streak across a mask-like face. Not trusting his own voice to give away the ire burning within, Tom nods to the beaming bartender that shares the same given name. '_How irritating. My next step will be to acquire a new name to fit my true self, something that is worthy of a Dark Lord's title.' _

Claiming a small table wedged between a corner and the flickering hearth, the youth sinks casually into a chair with his back to the wall in order to gaze around the pub. Whilst placing his cloak in a seat beside him, he carefully swallows and tests a few sentences under his breath to check if the rage is safely tucked away.

A cheery smile on his face, the bartender sidles up to circular table. "Oh nice jumper ya got there. Looks brand new even!"

"Yes, an admirer sent it to me this past Lammas."

Eyebrows climbing into his hairline, the elder glances over Tom again with appraisal. "Not many of your generation celebrates tradition anymore."

"Indeed." Is Tom's clipped reply which ends the false niceties.

"Well then, what'll ye be having little one?"

Jaw clenching, the youth lets out a controlled breath, "Just a Butterbeer."

"Nothing to eat? Must be waiting for the rain to let off then eh? Going shopping for the next school year already?"

_'So many frivolous questions! Keep to your own business.' _"Yes." He simply states.

When the bartender realizes that Tom isn't contributing any more information he turns away to carry out the short order.

Huffing at the man's back, the young male slips out a yew wand and flicks it at his bundled cloak. Out glides a small black notebook, followed by a miniature bottle of ink and an old featherless quill tip. These key items are his travelling kit, though worn and on the cheaper side, they fulfill their purpose to jot down daily thoughts and are easily replaced if lost… maybe not his notebook, but he has a nasty spell upon it waiting for any foolish thieves to get greedy.

A Butterbeer is placed on top of a coaster and before the bartender can comment on the neat display before him, Tom bids the man 'thank you' and reaches forward to take up the mug. Extending his arm outside of his comfort zone and into the older male's area, he keenly delivers a subconscious message through body language that the man 'is encroaching upon his person' and begins to sip the drink.

Taking an automatic step back, Tom the bartender, gives the kid another lop-sided grin and goes back to work polishing the glasses at the counter.

Finally left to his own devices, he sets down his drink and lifts up the notebook. Slender hands slide across the smooth surface and peal open the cover. The practiced lopping of elegant writing greets his grey orbs. Tom knows that anyone could read these first few pages, but the speck of blood at the top corner to each edge will enact a nasty Blinding Jinx. Then, several more pages inward is his stylized version of Parselscript with cleaner transitions between slurred vowels and stem-words he, himself, changed. The rest of the grimoire is scrawled with _his_ Parselscript keeping organized and detailed thoughts hidden. Flipping to the last entry, Tom skims the swirly symbols and watches with fascination as the words wiggle and become legible to only him;

_~Immortality~_

_~1) Holy Grail_ -_Just a muggle fairytale_

_2) Fountain of Youth__ -Magical properties dulled, rumored as a washbasin to some Spanish Prince in the Caribbean._

_3) Sorcerer's Stone (Maybe) Guarded like a hawk to owner Nicholas Flamel._

_4) Horcrux (Most likely) Need to gather more information from the Restricted Section and test out at earliest convenience.~_

Nimble fingers grasp around a brass handle and dip into the opened jar of ink. Tom circles the last line on the page and turns to a fresh one. Sketching out a quick title he begins listing off random words, bidding his time for the sprinkling in Diagon Alley to find some sort of end.

_~Names for a Dark Lord~_

_~*Chronus the Three-Headed Serpentine God (too outdated?)_

*_Loki the Nord God whose symbol is a wise and sly snake (too short a name…)_

_*Shaytan the Deifier of a muggle White God who controls serpents (too muggle inspired!)~_

He scratches out each entry and presses a thumb to the knot of tension between his brows. With another sigh, Tom leans back and looks about as the incoming lunch crowd gathers. Drinking deeply into the Butterbeer he reflects on why each name may be powerful but completely inept for himself. '_Because I want a name of my own… completely made from myself.' _The youth blinks at his stray thought and writes it out followed by a few more strokes that read;

_~Tom Marvolo Riddle~_

A smug smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I shall fashion my own name…"

'_An anagram!' _Breaking apart the letters, Tom is about to scramble a few combinations together when a figure at the edge of his vision makes him glance up, then double take, then entirely forget about his text.

There on the opposite side of the room is another male standing by the bar speaking to a waitress who just started shift. What initially sought Tom's attention is the abnormal robes of sleek black, but then, catching sight of the owners features kept making him glance up until finally he can't but not openly stare at that face. A face that is similar in many aspects to his own…

The broken quill falls from his fingers and rolls away.

_'What is this? A sick joke?!' _

Yet upon further scrutinization he notes several different characteristics to the would-be doppelganger. The first evidently being age, this person is an adult no doubt, maybe a good ten years older... Next is the bridge to their nose, a slightly wider jaw, and fuller lips. Once the nitpicking started, Tom soon finds a dozen other tiny shifts that he didn't see before and almost sighs in relief once the growing panic 'that someone had Polyjuiced as him' fades away. His eyes narrow along that dark strand. _'Note to self: make sure I dispose of all fingernail clippings and stray hairs properly.'_

When his composure returns, the youth studies the unknown male from afar, briefly pondering if this person might be related to him. Then a thousand other childishly hopeful questions begin springing up on the nature and true origins regarding himself and the stranger. He stomps them each down viciously, promising himself that he'll study his genealogy this same year during the dull hours between class and homework. Almost whimsically he flicks his wand to start packing up, unable to think much more on other subjects when an interesting specimen has presented itself. Steely eyes watch the proceedings.

The stranger is speaking quickly and more heatedly with each sentence, but the woman seems somewhat perturbed and increasingly frightened. A word is repeated and the woman blinks. The word is stated again and louder, "Tom."

A jolt runs through him. Everything inside suddenly becomes alert as his spine stiffens. Senses blown wide open, Tom can hear more of the conversation.

"Need to… immediately… any idea?"

The witch gestures to the bartender setting drinks down at a busy table. A scowl crosses the male's face and Tom's heart thuds faster seeing a familiar sneer he sometimes meets in the mirror -again wild notions of blood relations 'pop' into his head. More hand gestures draw attention to those pale extremities which cause Tom's eyebrows to skyrocket into his hairline when he sees the slight deformity of an extra finger on each hand. A bloodline curse gracing Purebloods, a fairly endearing one compared to the many other horrific deformities widely known and little spoken of. The waitress notices it too and backs up into the bar with a little shriek of surprise, then she bows repeatedly with ignorant apologies. With a pointed glare the mystery man flips up a hood and rushes out of the Leaky Cauldron.

Tom finds himself standing, knees shaking and gripping his wand tightly. Furious whispers erupt behind him between the waitress and her employer, but the confused teenager can only stare after the figure. A strange feeling builds in his chest; urging him forward but advising him to stay, he wishes it'll make up its mind. Suddenly a hand slaps onto a shoulder and Tom awards himself points for not jerking madly away. He whirls around to find the concerned eyes of the bartender.

"Ya alright lad? Someone's asking for ya by name…"

"Who was that man?" Polite demeanor nonexistent.

"I've no clue. Missy says he was some strange Pureblood looking for a boy named 'Tom' who should be in school. He even thinks yer out shopping…" The boy tries to pull away, but the older male tugs him right back, "Don't be pressing yer luck little Tom. Who knows what business a young man of his station might be up to? Nothing good Missy believes about his eyes."

"His eyes? What about his eyes?"

They turn to the witch leaning against the bar fanning herself with a napkin. Clear distraught written on her face, "His eyes don't match! Could be an omen! Or possession!

"It is called _Heterochromia Iridum_ and is hardly an omen. Is there anything else?"

"What?" Missy stammers in bewilderment to Tom's clinical and demanding tone. She blinks before remembering more of the encounter. "His eyes I thought odd enough, but his accent was horribly queer too, it started to become stronger when he was getting mad at me. Hissing and spitting at me towards the end. He's got to be one of them Dark Wizards! Outright_ hissing_ at me!"

"Wait -Tom!"

But the boy ignores the frantic bartender and snatches up his cloak before darting to the entrance of Diagon Alley.

The rain has let up, archways and rooftops dripping and small streams trickling through the gutters, yet the mist is thicker now. Tom runs, his grey orbs darting about as stores and people loom upon him from the foggy streets. Several times he runs into a few witches and wizards and ignores their fright as he continues his search. Wild thoughts are racing faster than his feet can cover, faster than his heart can hammer. Wondrous and dreadful fantasies knit in ever changing webs of startling possibilities in his hyperactive mind, a hundred different outcomes that tonight may end in! There is no doubt to Tom that he must be related to the man in some way...

_'He has to be a Parselmouth!' _

Distracted, Tom slips on the wet cobblestones towards the mouth of an alleyway. He crashes to the ground snarling at a passing couple who lean in to take pity on him, the boy grabs his wand from a puddle and glares after the fleeing pair. A flash of movement. Down in the darker recesses of Knockturn Alley, Tom sees the same billowing black robe to the man who was at the Leaky Cauldron. He quickly stumbles down the steps, cursing his lack of grace, and forces on his own cloak to try and keep some sort of anonymity.

Speeding through twists and turns, Tom soon comes across a dead-end. Surprisingly, his target is still ahead of him, marching calmly towards a blackened corner to a section of graffiti. With a burst of energy and far too much determined to jump the unknown male, Tom sprints the short distance and grabs onto the edge of the fluttering cloak with a victorious grin. That same grin slides off instantly when he sees the bulk of the stranger's form halfway through the bricks and vanishing before his very eyes. _'Danger-'_ Registers in his mind, but already Tom's wrist is being sucked into the wall and then his forearm, then his shoulder...

A shout of shock and anger slips through his lips and then Tom Marvolo Riddle is entirely swallowed by the vortex of a cross-angled dimensional portal.

**~*.*~**

**~End Prologue~**

* * *

><p><strong>Poor Tom, being thrown through such twists of Fate. <strong>

**Who thinks I'm horrible for flaunting a blood relative in front of him? Who thinks I'm even more terrible that it's not a blood relative he's hoping for? I am a nasty person, haha!**

**As you can tell, this Tom hasn't killed anyone or created a Horcrux just yet. He's right on the cusp of becoming all the lovely things we relate to Lord Voldemort; graceful, powerful, insane, master schemer and manipulator... unfortunately he has yet to shed his innocence. **

**He should be going on his way to begin his 5th year at Hogwarts to become a Dark Lord, not jumping through portals and messing up the Universe... oh well. Until next time.**


	2. three snakes a day

**Please excuse any grammar or spelling mistakes. I tend to go back through chapters to change these when I'm about to post the next chapter.**

**Thank you readers for following, favoriting, and reviewing my story so far!**

**Thanks geetac for being my first reviewer.**

**To manapohaku2 whom asked if he mysterious figure is Harry Potter, nope he is not, and yes Tom Riddle has no clue who his biological parents are just yet.**

**Hope this update was quick enough!**

**Got up early and typed all day to bring this installment to you... Enjoy!**

**Chapter Warnings: slight language, insinuated rape**

**Key: _Spells_**

* * *

><p><strong>~*The Time Wayfarer*~<strong>

**~Three Snakes a Day~**

**~*.*~**

Harry isn't entirely sure how he did it. Did the Universe spin a bit faster, aligning the planets in his favor? Has Lady Luck decided to play him a full deck of cards? He could have been a bit more stubborn than usual… or maybe Molly wasn't giving her firm parentage enough steam this morning. Then again, Mrs. Weasley might have taken into account his horrible summer, the dementor attack, and the court hearing to heart. Because all she could do earlier when he insisted going to Diagon Alley with her was let out a suffering sigh and a 'you've got five minutes to get ready!'. Harry had been ready in _two_ and stood by the door waiting.

Now, as they enter Diagon Alley, Harry lets out a breath he didn't know he had held in. The sun peeks over the shingles of tall buildings, well on its way to approaching afternoon, its rays warming the backs of a fairly packed crowd.

"Hold on Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley steers the boy over to the side and gives him her best _motherly _look, "you've got to stay close to me and promise not to get lost! We're going to go get school supplies first and you can help me shrink everything and organize it. Then we'll stop and get Ron his new broomstick. Great goodness! Another Perfect in the family!"

He nods automatically, his mood souring rapidly. Dutifully following after the Weasley matriarch, Harry broods on dejected thoughts about Ron _and _Hermione's new Perfect badge. Does Dumbledore think he isn't good enough? Is this because of the dementor attack? So what if he performed underage magic?! He saved his cousin's bloody life! If anyone deserves that badge it should be him dammit!

If these thoughts aren't enough to keep him grumbling in ire, Harry spots several posters and newspapers with his own face splashed across them;

**Potter's Gone Nutters! Rebirthed Dark Lord's & Now Imaginary Dementors!**

"Great," he seethes under his breath, "just _great!_"

Throughout the rest of the morning they make their way through the various usual shops like Flourish & Boltts, Potage's Cauldron Shop, Scribbulus Writing Instruments, and Slug & Jiggers Apothecary. They are just now exiting 2nd Hand Broomsticks when the two notice how thick the crowds have become. Excited chatter is spreading among the masses and everyone seems to be gathering around the area between them and the other broom shop, Broomstix. A platform is being raised.

"What on earth is all this hub-bub about?!"

Someone shoulders Harry and he falls to a knee with a grunt. Good thing they already shrunk everything or Molly and his purchases would be scattered under trampling feet. As it is, Harry blinks down at a colorful flyer and snatches it before standing. He tugs on Mrs. Weasley's arm.

A 'whooshing' sound brings cheers from the crowd and several people on brooms land on the stage with practiced ease.

Mrs. Weasley's eyebrows skyrocket as she glances at the flyer and back to the stage, her eyes shimmering in delight. "The Irish Quidditch League on tour?! Oh dear! I can't leave without getting Ron's broomstick signed! It'd be a waste of a perfectly good opportunity!" Her smile is infectious and Harry mirrors her as they follow the sway of the crowd.

An announcer is already stalking the stage, bringing more hype from the wizards and witches as he introduces the team.

Harry keeps good pace with Mrs. Weasley, secretly admiring her effective 'crowd handling control' whilst elbowing people out of her way she keeps an air of polite determination. They stop fairly close to the podium, listening to the latest achievements of the Quidditch team and their next game coming up. Already grasping Ron's new broom, a deadly glimmer of stubbornness rises in Molly's eyes and Harry instinctively knows that she isn't going _anywhere, _come Death Eaters or the _End of Times_, until she's got signatures. This could take a while.

"Mrs. Weasley…" Harry calls over the 'whooping' of others.

"What is it dear?!"

"Can I go to Magical Menagerie's?"

"What did you say?!"

"Magical Menagerie's!" He sees her contemplative stare, "For Hedwig!"

"Hedwig?!"

"Treats for Hedwig!"

"Oh right! Of course! Wait-" She fumbles for her wand and his hand, putting up a good fight trying to keep the broom in the crook of an arm. The wand swishes over his wrist and suddenly a red ribbon with a golden bell is tied to him. To his questionable look she leans closer, "When I'm finished here the bell will ring! Go to Magical Menagerie's and stay put!"

Her shrill command follows him all the way to said shop. Escaping the people outside, Harry enters the relatively empty store. In fact, other than the animals 'meowing' and 'hooting' in their cages Harry is the only human about. _'Everyone must be at the stage.'_

Not in any rush at all, Harry pokes about the many cages, petting cats and ruffling bird feathers. He tries to scratch a ferret behind the ear, but the animal seems a bit offended if its snarl is anything to go by. He chuckles at its eerie resemblance to Draco Malfoy.

"_Yess, quite a proud creature isn't it?"_

Harry turns, startled, searching for another person, but instead finds something else. A large snake is resting near a couple of bird cages, its upper body lifted and tongue flickering at the wildly twittering inhabitants. Normally Harry would find himself fascinated by any intelligent snake in a cage, but his calm demeanor shatters with the sudden knowledge that this particular reptile is in fact _loose._ Even more disarming is the creature's natural stillness and pure white scales that almost glow like bone upon the dark oak countertop. Pinpricks begin dancing across his skin creating gooseflesh.

The snake's unblinking green eyes stare at him for a moment, before turning back to the frightened birds chirping angrily at it. Hissing in amusement, the snake inches closer, letting a pink tongue lap at the cage's bars.

"_Uh… I don't think you sshould be doing that."_

"_Why evver not?" _As if truly interested with the boy's response, the snake moves its head to him._ "Ffreee mealss sshould nevver bee turned away."_

"_Er, well. I'm ssure when the owner getss back he'll be happy to feed you and put you back in your cage."_

Hissing laughter fills the store and the other animals quiet down in shuddering dread. The snake, raises its upper body around and glides back over the counter towards Harry. _"You thhink I'm a pet?"_

"_You're wearing a collar." _Harry points out.

Indeed, a silver metal band is wrapped around the smallest juncture to the snake's neck.

"_Thhat'ss different, veshlyn."_

"_How sso?"_

With a contemplating hiss the snake lowers its head, _"It'ss sso I don't forget myselff or my purpose."_

And what is there to say about that? A strange shiver runs down Harry's spine as he tries to steer the conversation to safer topics. He still hasn't forgotten he's all alone with a predator about the same length as himself. _"You've got a funny accent."_

The snake flicks a tongue at the boy in a rude gesture. _"You're one to talk, thiss ssimple olden dialect iss making my tongue dry. Doesn't flow sso nicely like slaehyjls doess."_

"_What'ss that?"_

"_Ssss, I don't know itss translation."_

"_Oh…"_ For a moment Harry's hackles rise as he watches the snake slither off the counter to pool on the floor at his sneakers. When it doesn't attack him, Harry takes a healthy step away to put distance between them. He glances towards the front door wondering when the storekeeper will return and how mad the wizard will be when he sees an escaped pet.

"_Veshlyn_," The snake's voice jerks the boy's head back to it and similar greens clash. _"Can you help me? I'm ssearching for sai sivlas. Lux sshould be around here ssomewhere…"_

"_Sai sivlas... lux?"_

"_No time to explain, we'vve dallied long enough here. Quickly, let uss depart."_

'_You're the one who was lounging around scaring carrier pigeons,' _he thinks, irritated at the snake's demanding brashness. _"I can't go with you. I wass told to sstay here."_

"_Ssss," _Slit orbs glare at the other, _"Fine thhen, I sshall go, and when thhiss sso called 'owner' getss back and realizess thhat I'm missing he'll blame you."_

"_What?! You just ssaid you aren't a pet here!"_

"_Do you believe thhat I am? Or thhat I'm not?"_

"_Huh? Wh-I don't know!"_

"_Thhen you'll find out thhe hard way won't you?"_

"_You're trying to blackmail me?!" _But Harry's accusation falls on deaf ears as the snake is already heading to the rear of the shop, towards a door propped open to darkened streets beyond. Mrs. Weasley will skin him alive if she finds out, but she'll easily do the same if she hears from the shopkeeper that Harry let loose a possibly dangerous creature in Diagon Alley. Harry hesitates and lets out a curse as he rushes forward and out the backdoor. His only chance is to catch it as fast as possible and stuff it in a cage. He's not exactly sure how he'll get it done without magic, yet 'where there's a will there's a way' -isn't that how the phrase goes?

Harry picks up a jog when he sees a white tail slithering out of sight. Almost running into a brick wall, Harry careens around the sharp corner.

The slanted alley of dirt and rock is narrow, the backs of buildings looming high above. The serpent hisses with laughter, its long body making wavy paths atop the dirt. Instead of slithering to the end of the road, the snake darts under an old fence without warning and disappears.

Muttering insults, Harry makes a running jump, catching the top of the rickety structure and hauling himself over it. The fence squeals in protest and the male drops on the other side. Huffing, Harry looks up in time to see the snake vanishing down another passage. He has no choice but to speed up.

Several times throughout the chase in the maze of back-alleys and side streets, Harry has to climb over piles of junk, crawl over fences and low walls, and even hop from roof to roof in order to catch up to the willy serpent. Unfortunately his efforts are wasted moments later when he comes upon a dead-end in a dark unmarked street somewhere far off the beaten path he started on.

"Merlin's bollocks!" He howls in frustration. Mrs. Weasley is going to flay his hide!

"Did you hear him? Ha-ha-ha! _Merlin's bollocks?_"

Whirling around Harry snatches his holly wand from his jeans, blood beating in his eardrums.

"Right Scamp, never though' I'd hear Dumble's goody-goody golden boy curse from that mouth of his."

"Wonder what else we could do with that mouth of his?"

Nasal laughter reaches Harry along with the dark chuckles of another. "Who's there?!"

Two imposing figures slip out from the shadows, one man a thin and sickly looking wizard smiles at him with yellowed teeth, the other a burly bear of a man with scars littering his face follows closely. Their wands aren't in view, but Harry knows that any flick of a wrist and they could appear, yet… another sinking thought dawns on him. He can't use _magic, _and if these cretins know who he is then they surely have figured out this disheartening fact. Their smug leers only solidify his growing fear.

"Stay back!"

"Or what lovely? You'll wave your wand at us?"

Panic begins to set in as Harry's orbs widen at their confident approach. "D-Don't come any closer!"

More hideous laughter.

Harry backs up swiftly and instead of hitting a wall, he slams into a warm body. "What?"

The two brutes catch sight of the newcomer and tear out their wands with haste. "Oi! Where'd you come from?!"

Half believing that it's Dumbledore or someone from the Order standing behind him, Harry turns with a grateful smile, but it leaves him when he is proven wrong.

A man wearing a silk black cloak remains unfazed and calculating the scene he has _magically_ appeared into. It's painfully clear that the youthful male is a Pureblood with expensive silver stitching worked into the fabric of his cloak. Harry is sure he's only ever seen Lucius Malfoy sporting such outfits. Mismatched irises stare out from handsome features, assessing the older men.

"Did ya hear what I said?" The scrawnier man shifts forward, wand pointing menacingly, "Where'd you come from?"

"The wall," comes a monotone voice of practiced ease. Those strange orbs land on the wizard named Scamp's forearm where the terrifying sign of the Dark Mark rests. The man's face, once emotionless, changes as a slight dip to the side of his lips form.

Harry finds himself slowly moving apart from that creepy familiar smirk, wondering if the odds have just stacked _triple_ against him.

"So you're Death Eaters?"

They hiss angrily at the unknown male.

"Take me to your Lord."

Scamp stammers in sputtering rage.

The heavier wizard steps closer with a snarl. "Wha' makes ya think we'd do tha'? Tha Dark Lord don't need no pretty rich boy like yous around unless he's fuckin' ya."

The two snicker between themselves.

Harry carefully watches a frown pass that pale face and those eyes smolder in irritation. "I don't have time for _thisss_."

"An' we ain't got time for servin' little princes. Scamp, I'm sure the Dark Lord would hate it if we dirty up his _golden boy, _maybe we should play with this one eh?"

"Sounds good to me! _**Incarcerous**_!"

The man lifts a hand as if to stop the spell, summoned ropes hit a magical barrier and disintegrate. Quick as lightning, the stranger whips out a wand and flicks it.

Scamp, still stunned that his target knocked off his spell with _will _alone is hit by the unknown force.

Falling against the graffiti walls, Harry scrambles to the other corner as he watches the thin wizard twirl away like a spinning top, colliding into the larger bloke. The burly man is able to shoot a _**Bombarda**_ before being knocked to the ground by his partner. With no small amount of amazement, Harry witnesses the young man catching the spell at the tip of his wand, pivoting with the momentum, and coming back around to send the castors own spell back. The mini explosion blasts the two attackers further down the road and shakes the stones of the alley. Dirt and dust swirl in the air as the male steps forward.

Harry had to give the bear-like man some points, since he was able to throw up a _**Protego** _at the last second. Though from his angle, he can see how the two Death Eaters are singed. The rapidly recovering pair don't have enough time to shield themselves again if the fourth male fires at point-blank range.

A pale hand rises and levels between the eyes of the skinny man…

"Stop!" Harry yells, jumping to his feet and stumbling closer.

"Why?" Comes the bored droll.

Wincing from that tone, Harry takes in the hauntingly familiar male whose hood has fallen back revealing a long thick braid of dark hair. Searching that blank face for any emotion at all, Harry stammers for a reply, "I-it's wrong… and you _know _it!"

Those mismatched eyes lock onto his, stealing the breath from his lungs as they burrow deep. A look of understanding flickers in those unblinking orbs, then a tinge of exasperation. This close, Harry notices the strange skin texture circling those eyes… "I cannot shelter you from what must be done."

Taken aback Harry frowns at the statement. "What? I don't need you to shelter me. I don't even know you!"

There is a silent terse moment and the man speaks again with slight despair. "Very soon things will change and you either have to adapt or accept the unfavorable decisions."

"What are you talking about? Who are you?"

The Death Eaters shuffle to their knees, ready to attack again or make a break for it.

The Pureblood jerks back to them and whispers, "_**Imperio**_."

Similar looks of fear melt off their features and they both gradually stand together. A few seconds pass as mental orders are given to the pair. They suddenly apparate away, their twin 'cracks' echoing in the street.

Harry and the stranger stare at one another.

"I don't have a proper name… not yet." Then the man surprises Harry again with a genuine smile. "Maybe, someday soon, you can give me one."

With that, the nameless figure sweeps away and exists the area leaving Harry staring after him with mixed feelings stirring within. Clenching a jaw, the boy lets out a sigh and rubs a hand through his hair. What ruddy cards is Lady Luck handing him today? "Ah!" Harry remembers his reason for being here, "the snake! Where'd that bloody thing go?!"

Just as Harry is about to leave, the wind shifts in the street as a vacuum of air signifies the arrival of another. A shocked yell bounces off the alley walls as a fifth person appears from the dead-end.

Not exactly sure why people are 'popping' out of nowhere and threatening him with near heart-attacks, Harry ducks forward and catches the person before they hit the ground. A teenager, close to his age and height, slumps against him and Harry steadies their bodies. _'Maybe this bloke can tell me what's going on?'_

"Hey, are you alrig-" The words die on his lips when he is caught staring stupidly into Tom Riddle's grey orbs.

**~*.*~**

**~End Chapter~**

* * *

><p><strong>Cliffhanger! Woot! I love first impressions. <strong>

**If you're wondering about birthdays and ages:**

**Harry Potter (Born July 31) 15**

**Tom Riddle (Born December 31) 14**


	3. first impressions matter

**Cheers to new favorites and follows. Hope the story is good so far and picking up speed.**

**Warnings: slight language, a bit of back and forth POVs**

* * *

><p><strong>~*The Time Wayfarer*~<br>~First Impressions Matter~  
><strong>

**~*.*~**

Being swallowed by any wall is not a fun or educating experience.

It is _nothingness._

His awareness is the first thing that is stolen from him as the darkness flips and hurls him around with no obvious direction. He has no control, and then his senses are next to be stripped from him one by one. Tom feels as if _this_ is death. This horrible void where nothing exists, where one loses all sanity and thought. The sound of his own screams are suddenly silenced in the engulfing abyss. The faint glimmer of hope is snuffed out. He drifts...

'_No… I don't-I don't want to die.'_

In that pitch-black place, a thrumming rhythm drifts through the distance. A calm and steady heartbeat.

Tom focuses on it, relishes in the only vibration that he can distinguish. Then, that pulsating beat stills and a presence hovers near him, above and below, all around. Strangely, Tom can feel that unknown manifestation peering at him, judging and weighing him…

_I don't want to die!'_

As if reaching a conclusion, the shapeless entity slides closer and then dives into Tom-

What follows is like being woken rudely from some namless nightmare.

One moment he had been suspended and the next thrown back into all the rules that holds reality together. Blinding light, the smell of ancient stone and the foul taste of blood in his mouth, but most importantly –magic. It sizzles and dances across his skin as if welcoming him home, curling up cozily to his ecstatic core.

Relief floods through Tom and gravity demands his attention, but he's too shocked to keep his knees from folding.

Surprisingly, instead of curling up without a shred of dignity on the ground, Tom finds himself pleasantly held by a warm body. Steady arms embrace his weakened form, trying to wrestle them into a standing position, but he can only lean forward and rest a forehead on the other during this. Tom's chilled skin shudders from the person's body heat, a wonderful burn that tingles through him -awakening his muddled state. Inhaling the combination of thick wool, pumpkin spice, and fresh sweat, Tom has half-a-mind to give in and let sleep claim him… yet his calculative and paranoid tendencies kick in, summoning what's left of his composure.

A voice is speaking to him, he forces more strength into trembling limbs to raise his head. Startling green orbs pin Tom with a curious look of growing horror. He only has a second to brace himself before he's pushed back into a rough surface.

* * *

><p>Harry backs away from his mortal enemy, jaw slack and mouth gawking in utter horror. Having Tom <em>bloody <em>Riddle appear out of nowhere and falling into his arms is _not_ how he envisioned a trip to Diagon Alley! _'This can't be real! It isn't possible!'_

Pointing his wand at the other male, Harry tries to reassure himself that even if he can't do magic, that it sure makes him feel better having some form of weapon between them. "Who are you?!"

Alert, Harry watches through the circular rims of his glasses as the once ruffled looking teen regains full poise. Pale fingers sweep bangs to the side, perfecting a part for that dark hairline. Hands smooth down the front of an outdated sweater and dark cloak. As every crease in the young Voldemort look-alike is fixed, that face relaxes into a dangerous blank mask.

And the moment Harry has been dreading descends upon him when those lips part and a soft, melodic voice, pierces the air, "Tom Riddle…"

* * *

><p>Fingers itching to reach in his cloak to pull out his own wand, Tom scrutinizes the other. He knows he isn't in any real danger, they are quite close in age and if Tom has to follow underage wizarding codes, then this boy has to as well. What he needs right now is to track down his long lost relative. Being held at wand point isn't something he is willing to tolerate after the agonizing experience of being sucked in and spit out by a damned wall. All terrifying thoughts of dying is crumpled and stuffed into the far reaches of his head, where such things like that are forced to forget. He turns his attention to the fact he had almost met someone who can impact the rest of his dreadful life. <em>'I was so close!' <em>

Rage is building up inside, a familiar boiling anger. Cornered by this irritating person is starting to truly irk him, but he hasn't a clue where the cloaked figure disappeared to and he needs to pick the trail back up. This kid might have witnessed the other's appearance as well. Tom needs this information, but due to the teen's obvious edgy attitude he'll have to manipulate the conversation subtly. Something he really has no time for, _'Patience is key…'_ "Who might you be?"

* * *

><p>His world feels as if it's shattering around him. Tom Riddle, in the flesh… it isn't possible. Not unless, "Is this some sort of test? Something <em>he<em> created to come after me while he's putting together an army?"

He barely notices the other's eyebrows climbing in a delicate manner. That emotionless mask remains impassive, but those eyes dilate as if sensing his rising fear. "I am not sure what you mean," states the careful tone as a hungry interest glimmers in grey portals, "but it sounds _fascinating._ You think someone is 'testing' you? Someone powerful enough to build an army?"

Dark thoughts of Voldemort explode through his mind in horrific detail of recent encounters. Frightening shadows whispering. Pale monstrosity rising. Cedric's dead eyes… Harry's heart thunders against his ribcage as he takes a step from the overwhelming attention that is focused on him. His sweaty palm tightens hold of his wand.

"Who are you," the boy continues, "to be important enough to someone so powerful?"

"I-I'm not important."

"Oh, I doubt that. If this _'he'_ takes the time to send people after you for 'tests' when he has an army to build, well… you must be _very _important to him."

"You don't know anything!"

"Don't I? You are practically _giving _me everything."

"Shut up!" Swallowing in anger, Harry makes himself take a deep breath. He takes a moment to evaluate his enemy, trying to find some sort of reason for Riddle to be here, yet there's something off. Something different and Harry can't seem to place his finger on it.

The image of Tom Riddle from years before, in the Chamber of Secrets, becomes superimposed on the current one and Harry notes the huge differences; smaller body, shorter hair, and lighter eyes. There's a more cautious air about the teen mixed with drilled practice as if Tom is forcing himself to do things in an orderly and specific way. Then, all of a sudden, Harry just _gets_ it. _'He's younger… more inexperienced. He's still trying to perfect his persona…'_

The fear begins to slide away replaced with a sort of 'awe'.

* * *

><p>There are very few things that make Tom uncomfortable. Dumbledore being at the top of that list, followed swiftly by the 'unknown'. When the intoxicatingly horrified look on the other boy's face changes completely and for <em>unknown<em> reasons, Tom cannot help but feel uncomfortable.

All previous interest in the green-eyed male vanishes and Tom wants to get on with this conversation. Time is ticking away and with it his patience. He decides to cut to the chase. "Has anyone else passed through here?"

"What?" Distrust narrows those green eyes, "Like you did?"

"Yes. Have you seen anyone wearing a black embroidered cloak? Very expensive?"

"You mean the man with mismatched eyes?"

"Yes! Which way did he go?!"

That suspicion turns contemplative, the boy looks as if he is confused of why Tom is leaving him alone so soon. "What do you want with him?"

Tom's mask almost cracks with frustration, it's hard to keep the irritation from lacing into his words. "That's none of your concern! Now tell me!"

When that face closes up and determination sets those shoulders, Tom realizes he isn't getting any more information. Hissing in annoyance, he pushes off the wall and begins to march past the teen. A hand latches onto his arm.

"Where did you come from?"

"The wall you nitwit!"

"That's not good enough Tom."

Trying to yank his arm free, Tom's face begins to break. "Stand aside."

"I'm warning you."

He lets out a hysterical laugh. "Warning me? You _warning_ me? You're nothing but an insignificant worm-"

* * *

><p><em>THUNK!<em>

* * *

><p>Harry sucks in a breath. Adrenaline flooding though him, he stares down at the crumpled form of Tom in slight surprise. He glances at his closed fist, knuckles throbbing. <em>'I hit him…'<em>

They glare at each other in disbelief.

Whereas, if Draco was on the receiving end of that punch he would have flinched like a coward and wailed, but Tom's reaction is quite the opposite. Harry's fear returns when that fake face finally shatters and a snarling monster reveals itself.

Unprepared by the force of wandless magic unleashed, Harry's body slams into a stone building and is held there by Tom's terrifyingly strong will. White sparks dot his vision when the back of his head collides with the wall. Magic batters against him, howling in rage and digs into his own magic. It wants to tear him to shreds, it wants to make him _hurt._

Just as quickly as the assault starts, it ends. Harry falls to his hands, hissing in pain before scrambling to his feet.

Across from him, Tom's form doubles over and begins coughing.

"Y-you attacked me…"

Tom snarls at him, "_You_ attacked _me _first! You expect me not to retaliate?!"

'_Good point.' _Rubbing the back of his head, Harry trains his wand on the hacking boy again. _'Just in_ case.' Tom doesn't seem to care or notice as he spits out a wad of blood that makes Harry feel alarmed. "What's wrong with you?"

He's ignored as the boy swallows a few times in pain. Inching closer, wondering if this is some new trick, Harry suddenly sees an object that makes his stomach drop. There, having fallen out of Riddle's robes, is a familiar black diary. Without hesitation he swoops in and snatches it.

Tom lunges at him and Harry's is able to plant a solid kick to the other's chest, which sets Riddle through another coughing fit. "Give… it. Back!"

"How…" Harry's voice shakes, speaking quietly to himself, "how is this real? How is this diary back?"

"It isn't a diary! It's my grimoire! Now hand it back you _theif!_"

Harry opens the grimoire somewhere in the middle with rising dread only to his shock, to find words, Parselscript even. Line after line of symbols filling up the pages to a notebook that should be blank and housing a piece of Voldemort's soul. He flicks towards the last few pages and focuses on the slithering ink strokes, soon enough Harry is staring at a list of names. Not just any list of names… but the very creation of Tom Riddle's transformation. _'He's close… he's so very close to finding Lord Voldemort within himself.'_

A laugh full of mirth and scorn trickles from Tom. "It's no use… you won't be able to read it."

Harry doesn't say anything as he closes the notebook. For some mysterious reason a calmness settles over Harry. His brain tries to make sense of these new discoveries to the puzzle of Tom Riddle's appearance. He automatically responds with, "It's in Parselscript."

There's a pause between heartbeats. "It is," grey orbs narrow, "how perceptive of you."

"It's a dark wizard's trait."

Tom scoffs in disgust. "So what if it is?"

"Dark wizards kill people. They don't give a damn about anyone but themselves." The scorch of foreign feelings screaming for _justice_ rises in the back of Harry's mind, multiplying rapidly and fueling each word as if he's some sort of marionette puppet. His lungs burn and heart begins thundering... "Anyone who has such traits are already_ damned_ and on their way down the wrong path!" White blinding light sears his vision for a millisecond-

* * *

><p><em>Yes Harry. <em>

'_What?'_

_Dark wizards are selfish creatures and are little more than monsters themselves. They prey on the weak and choke the life from the world. They delight in causing pain and torture. They kill needlessly, like hungry ghouls to tear families apart._ _You know all of this Harry. You know from experience._

'_I-I do? Yes, I do.'_

_Who is the worst one of them all, Harry?_

'_Who?'_

_Who is the worst one?_

'_Voldemort…'_

* * *

><p>"I've never killed anyone in my life!" Tom's shouts.<p>

The words echo throughout the street, like the truest pitch to any bell. It dissipates the look of guilt in Tom's face and chases the unusual voices away in Harry's head.

A look of perplexed shock comes over Harry. Tom hasn't killed anyone. _'That's right… he's still too young. He isn't the same as the Tom I met before.' _The strange alien feelings leave him and Harry blinks down at the black grimoire in his hand, lost in thought. The sudden sound of a strangled moan leaves the other boy and Harry peers down at the bent figure. "Hey."

Calmly leaning forward he pokes the boy in the shoulder with his wand, "Hey…"

Like a cornered viper the male swats his hand away with a venomous sneer, "Stop that! Or I shall expel my stomach contents upon your hideous footwear!"

Blinking, Harry takes a step back, not one to find out if the other male will make good on his vanilla threat. He watches in slight interest as those pale features contort in distress upon studying the white and black tennis shoes on his feet.

"Where… where on earth did you find such odd shoes?" Now that the nausea attack is slowly ebbing and there isn't a chance he'll run into his mystery relative this same day, Tom is beginning to notice why the other boy's presence is making him feel uncomfortable. _'I thought him just odd, but… all of his clothing is so strange.'_

A similar realization takes place in Harry as he glances down at faded jeans and pull-over shirt. "Oh… yeah." Harry's green orbs lock on dark grey and an crazy thought comes to him, "You're in the year 1995." Again he's transfixed by the look of stunned horror morphing on Riddle's face.

"19-… 1995? No," He's shaking his head, "it's impossible! Completely impossible!" Gibbering delirium begins to knock at the back of his mind as thoughts shoot by like falling stars to be snuffed out. Steely eyes widen alarmingly and dance around the street wildly, searching for some truth to the other boy's claim. There is none, only the boy and his weird fabric. Could it be true? Did he really appear in the future? Images of darkness, a place between space and time come whispering back. That alien presence burrowing deeply into his chest... Previous nausea returns twice-fold with an intense headache that beats down on his head. His once soaring hopes to finding a relative that might be a brother or even a young _father _to him dies a cold and horrible death in his heart. Suggestive questions spawn a single one… "Is," he gasps painfully, "is time travel possible here?"

And now Harry's crazy idea takes shape even more. _'He really is Tom Riddle… how did he get here?'_ "Yeah, it is." He states.

What occurs in rapid order leaves Harry in a situation worse than before and with a difficult decision to make:

Tom Riddle's vision loses focus and his breathing becomes labored. The world spins off its axis and he falls, catching himself with both hands before promptly retching foaming liquid on the cobblestones.

Harry reaches forward to grasp the male's shoulder. "Hey are you alright?" He shakes the other teen, but is only able to push Tom to the side as that slender body suddenly goes limp and grey orbs roll up into Riddle's head.

The would-be Dark Lord lies feint on some unmarked back street in Knockturn Alley.

A snort leaves Harry, then the state of conditions begins to unfold and his humor dissipates entirely. Right now will be the perfect time to off another deadly player. Right now before Tom Riddle really _does _become another Dark Lord.

Wand gripped tightly, Harry forces himself to raise it and point at the defenseless male below him. _'It would be so easy. I can make him pay for everything here and now... it would be worth getting my wand snapped. Wouldn't it?'_ No... this Tom Riddle doesn't _deserve_ it yet. It's that startling? Tom Riddle being _innocent_? The male before him is only a bitter and lonely teenage brat, with a head full of grandeur and the magic to one day back it up. Harry's steam gradually leaves him as he peers at that unguarded face. "Merlin's beard," he croaks, "he's still got baby fat in his cheeks."

Shaking his head, Harry lowers his wand in disgust with himself. He can't kill a defenseless person like Riddle. Kill... such a strong and final word. Frowning, Harry wonders why such a dark thought crossed his mind to begin with...

A sudden jingling tune startles him so bad that Harry lets out a shout of surprise, before raising his arm to look at the dangling bell jiggle and shake. "Oh!" He forgot! "Mrs. Weasley!"

Turning, Harry rushes to the corner, his footsteps carrying him further and further away when suddenly -he comes to a halt. At the front of the alley, Harry slowly turns back to peer at Tom's quiet shape. He walks cautiously back over and stops just short of Riddle's head staring down at the wounded teenager…

"Right." Harry announces into the silence of the alley, "Bloody hell."

**~*.*~**

**~End Chapter~**

* * *

><p><strong>Alright, don't lie... who thought Harry was going to leave Tom in the alley? Ha! That would have been a dick move. <strong>

**To those of you wondering about the weird anomaly that happened to Tom at the beginning and the strange voice trying to control Harry, don't worry, everything gets explained... later on lol.**

**Anyways I've got classes on Mondays and Wednesdays so those posts will be a lot later in the evening/morning. I'll try to do a chapter within every 24 hours, but shit happens don't keep me to that schedule.**


	4. mark my words

**Looks like my chapter/review ratio has tilted on a negative scale. Share the love and review. (Cries in corner).**

**Btw, tell me why know one informed me I had mixed the Three Broomsticks and the Leaky Cauldron up? If not for my paranoid habits of re-reading chapters over and over, I wouldn't have noticed! Now I'm going to go back in the next thirty minutes and fix those blaring mistakes.**

**Anyhow, this chapter may be shorter, but I did warn you that Mondays and Wednesdays are pushing it for me since I have classes. Well, enjoy!**

**Warnings: language, slight insinuation of sexual theme**

* * *

><p><strong>~*The Time Wayfarer*~<strong>

**~Mark My Words~**

**~*.*~**

When Mrs. Weasley spots him waddling over to her, she does a double-take with an incredulous look. Her once angry visage morphs straight into the panic that she has initially been feeling. "Harry!" Rushing him, she lets her eyes fall upon the body draped over his back whilst she removes the bell ringing on his wrist. "Who is this? What happened?!"

"I was attacked-" No use in keeping it from her, already Mrs. Weasley's hackles are rising.

"Death Eaters?"

Harry nods and lifts Tom higher on his back, "I came across this guy. I think he's sick."

"Well, we better drop him off at St. Mungos and carry on quickly!"

"No! Er," _'Bullocks, what would the Ministry do if they catch wind of an unknown time traveler who happens to be the worst Dark Lord in history?'_ But what other choices are there? With a flash of insight, Harry chews on his bottom lip, almost hating the lie on his tongue. "He needs to speak to Dumbledore! He was asking for him _specifically!_"

"He can get ahold-"

"No Mrs. Weasley, _please_. We have to bring him along."

"To Grimmauld Place?!"

"I found him near the area that the Death Eaters sprung up, abandoned and in pain. I think he's on the run from them."

"What? Harry! This boy has his own family and-"

"Mrs. Weasley," he tries to muster up something close to sadness fueled by his determination, "I don't think he does… not anymore…"

A shocked and painful cringe crosses her face at the implications. She straightens up stiffly with a huff. "I'll need to get a hold of Sirius… come along back to the Leaky Cauldron. I have to make a fire-call first, then we'll see what happens from there."

"Thank you…"

Entering the Leaky Cauldron, Harry finds a seat to ease Tom into. Arranging the boy to seem as if he's fallen asleep on the table, Harry takes a step away and stretches his back. He takes a moment to glance around the room, surprised at the lack of occupants. _'I guess most people went home after the Irish League left.'_

"Mr. _Potter_." The old and now hunched-back innkeeper comes shuffling over with a small glass of water and a gleeful smile on his face. "Got yer something to wet your lips, I did."

"Oh, um, thanks." He says awkwardly, setting the drink aside and eyeing the bald man.

"Who's this now?"

"Ah," Harry turns to the almost angelic expression residing on Tom's face. _'This is so surreal…'_ "My mate, Tom." Face flushing at his own embarrassing phrasing he stutters out quickly, "I-I mean, just a friend of course!"

"Hn, more Tom's about then ever these days." The bartender grumbles and peers closer, a gasp escapes him when he studies that oddly familiar face… voice lowering into a choked whisper and skeletal hands wring together, "Can't be. Just _can't._"

A theoretical bucket of ice water dumps over Harry's head. _'Does he recognize Tom? This can't be good! Does he know Tom is Lord-'_

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley appears halfway out of a door behind the bar. Her eyes land on the three males in the corner and she waves them over.

Moving to lift the unconscious boy, Harry almost drops him when the hunched form of the older Tom latches onto the other side of Riddle. Shooting the creepy looking man a grateful smile, they move together into a large and overstocked kitchen. Pots clean themselves, then whiz about from the sink to hang above the long table situated in the center of the area. Dishes stack up and cups push each other for space in an open cupboard. Standing by the cooking heath, which has been turned into a floo access, Mrs. Weasley ushers them quickly. They seat the young teen on a stool against the wall.

Mrs. Weasley thanks the hunched-back innkeeper profusely, "-and Tom, do take care of yourself."

Manic snickers turn into sputtering cackles as the man leaves, closing the door behind him.

Harry shudders.

"Oh he means well." She scolds lightly. "That Polyjuice accidently he had back in '93 only changed his appearance. He's still a kind-hearted man inside."

'_Whatever you say…'_

"Now then, let's wake him and pass on the address, poor Mr…"

"Riddle." Harry supplies instantly, eyes snapping to the door and back at Mrs. Weasley.

"Riddle? I haven't heard of him before. Looks like he's about to start the same year as you."

"Uh, he's a Ravenclaw, muggleborn, very shy..." Thinking quick on his toes is a bit tricky for Harry, most times he can trust his body to react under harsh conditions, but diffidently not when coming up with off the wall information. Which is why his friends tell him that he's a horrible liar. The hardest part will be to get Tom to play along. _'Merlin… I just made Voldemort into a muggleborn! What's Dumbledore going to say about all this? He'll know Riddle for certain and realize I lied through my teeth to Mrs. Weasley.'_

"Ravenclaw? That's probably why. _**Rennervate!**_"

Tom's nostrils flare and his eyes pop open. Glazed orbs blink in confusion as he tries to understand what is happening around him. Nausea twists his stomach as smells and colors bombard his senses. Green glowing eyes, behind circular lenses fill Tom's vision. _'That boy…'_

"12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England." Harry spits out quickly, not letting the male get a chance to retaliate.

"Wha-" Tom begins, but then hands are hoisting him up and holding him closely to a similar slender build. A wave of queasiness slithers up Tom's spine. He groans, clutching his stomach with the arm not in his supporter's grip. Unable to demand answers, let alone summon the strength to push away, his head rolls on his shoulders and he lets it rest on the other to keep the room from spinning. The scent of wool and pleasant spices assault him, that skin far cooler than he remembers it from earlier. Suddenly, Tom is stepping into a fireplace with the male.

A destination is called out, floo powder is thrown, and both teenagers are speeding so fast through the network that living and drawing rooms flash by with barely a wink of the contents within. They arrive, spilling out onto a Persian rug belonging to some unremarkable pompous Black from years before. Their bodies tangled and bruised, Harry pulls away, noticing that Tom's skin is far paler and now slick with sweat.

Sirius enters the room with a lop-sided grin and arms wide, "Welcome to Grimmauld-"

Tom takes his cue and spews the rest of his last known meal in a hot pile on the Persian rug. He coughs twice, spitting the liquid strands from his mouth to clear the passage of his raw throat. Unfocussed orbs roam, noting the many bodies crowding into the room to see him in such a degrading and _weakened_ state.

Those glowering eyes turn on a wobbling neck to glare at Harry and he winces in sympathy.

"I _hate you."_

Reacting on reflexes, Harry catches the male from face-planting in vomit yet again when Tom's energy evaporates completely with those damning last words.

"Place…" Sirius ends lamely, his arms and smile dropping.

"Oh dear." Comes Mrs. Weasley's voice from behind. "No harm done! Go ahead and get him into a bed Harry, he's looking worse with every second. Did Snape make it?"

"Snivellus? That deranged bat is stalking the halls somewhere around here."

Remus lets out a sigh, "In the old Black office where a lab is set up. He's got your daughter and Hermione chopping up potion ingredients to stock our wares."

"Ron…" Harry calls, muscles straining from carrying Tom everywhere.

The redhead instantly pushes through a few of the Order members and his relatives to dive down and help Harry. "Blimey mum, I wanted a broom, not a bloody _bloke_."

"Language Ronald! You'll be getting your broom in due time!"

"What's wrong with a bloke Ronnakins?" Laughter carries from the rear of the group. "Last I knew, we got brooms too!"

Ron tries to ignore the innuendos as he trades a look with Harry, trying to understand who this strange person is joining them at the Order's Headquarters.

"Maybe he only likes the kind that comes _detached_ Fred." The twins jeer. "Well I guess it's easier to hide a broom from mum then a whole bloke, eh George?"

"That's enough out of both of-"

"Why don't you both go shove your brooms up-"

"RONALD WEASLEY!"

Ears beat red, Ron ducks his head and lifts the teen's whole body from the floor with Harry.

Fred and George appear as if they'd like to say more with the way the bickering was leading towards, but one glance at their mother's angry face makes them retreat farther back in the room.

Several people are trying desperately not to snicker as they move out of the way for the two boys to carry up their newest addition. Just as the others slip aside, a single figure comes swooping in from around a corner, robes billowing to block the way.

Snape appears in all his grandeur. "Is this a house full of screaming monkeys, or are we dignified wizards and witches?"

"I'd rather be a screaming monkey," Fred whispers to George, who nods in return.

The snarling man jerks his head to them, his lips peel back to sneer, "You would."

Coal black orbs then fall on Harry's startled features, before slipping down to the slumped form between himself and Ron.

"Are we just letting _anyone _in now? I thought this was a Headquarters."

"It was my decision to make." Sirius steps forward, the tension in the air thickening.

"No, it wasn't." Comes a scathing reply. "Have you forgotten that it's a majority vote to bring _unknown_ people in here that could jeopardize your own safety?"

"I know him." Harry says quickly, all eyes turn to him and he shifts his weight trying to get a better grip on Tom.

"You do?" Ron asks in confusion which is mirrored by several others.

"Yes. We're… acquaintances."

"Well then," a humorless droll, "if _Potter _says 'it's all right' then I daresay we have nothing to fear."

"Sod off Snivellus!"

"Gentlemen!" Mrs. Weasley jumps into the role of mediator as Remus tugs on his friend's arm. She turns to the Potions Professor. "Snape… we greatly need your help. This boy is in dire need of medical attention."

"Then why is he not at a St. Mungos?"

"Death Eaters." Harry glares at the man. Right now he'd very much like to relieve his arms of Tom's weight and figure out how the teenage version of Voldemort came out from thin air, not deal with someone who obviously doesn't want to help them. "We were both attacked!"

"You were _both attacked_?" Those black eyes become fixed on the boy's green orbs.

Something weird and painful prods at the forefront of Harry's mind. He shakes his head, unable to keep up their staring contest. "I didn't want to hand him over to the system just in case."

"The _system_ is what keeps us alive Potter."

"Sir-"

"But I suppose what's done is done. Find him a bed and I'll be there shortly, I'm sure you can follow those simple instructions." Snape gives each of the Order members a pointed look as if it's their fault this is happening.

Ron and Harry head up the stairs of Grimmauld Place, searching for a spare room.

Once the youngest of the group are out of earshot, the Order members turn to each other.

"There's no harm in helping out a child, Snape." The calm stance of Remus matches the softness of his features.

"Says you… It would be best to treat the boy and move him out quickly, before he becomes aware and starts snooping around."

"He's not a spy."

"How can you be so sure?"

There's silence for a moment before Mad-Eye Moody lets out a gruff snort. "Looked like a normal brat to me. Green in the gills and leaning on Potter like a life-line."

"You noticed too, huh?" Tonks plays with a strand of pink bubblegum hair, "The kid seems drawn to Harry, and Harry himself seems awfully protective."

"This isn't some cheap romance novel. It's nothing more than Potter's all consuming hero-complex rising to others in need."

"Sounds like the basics for a 'cheap romance novel' to me..." Mumbles Moody.

"For all his faults, I hardly think Potter is queer at the mere sight of a pretty face... then again..."

"That's my godson!"

"That's my _student_. I happen to have the unpleasant experience of being around the Potter offspring far longer than you Black, and I can safely say that the boy tends to attract danger as well as _thrive_ in dangerous situations. I won't be surprised if this new toy of his happens to be the next Dark Lord in waiting."

"I trust Harry!"

"Then we're doomed."

"When Dumbledore gets here, he'll side with Harry and me on this!" Sirius shouts, shouldering his way past the other man and stomping down the hall.

Everyone disperses then, in the privacy of their own minds. Many begin to help Molly put together a little feast to celebrate Ron and Hermione's positions as Perfects to the upcoming school year.

Alone stands the dark shape of Snape standing in the middle of the hall, smoldering orbs rising to stare at the ceiling above him... "We shall see."

**~*.*~**

**~*End Chapter*~**

* * *

><p><strong>Oh Snape... you're so dramatic, I love your dark sarcasm. <strong>

**Poor Tom, he's sick as a dog, but traveling through time portals and self-induced stress can do that to people.**

**Till tomorrow readers, salute!**


	5. the slumbering beauty

**Whoohoo finally reviews are coming in, makes me truly happy and pumped up!**

**WinterRocket & inkdots: No problem, I'll try to post a chapter every day for as long as my steam is going. Thanks for the support!**

**choclatbandit: My mismatched eye character will be making several appearances and his identity will unfold slowly, he's even in this chapter including his slippery friend. **

**RachaelEwe: I bow to the compliments. Thank you, thank you, and also special thanks to letting me join your community.**

**TamiLove: Yep, Tom with cute cheeks still. From my research Tom's aggressive and dark attitude fully develops during his 5th year when he finds out about his family and starts killing people to make horcruxes. I wanted to catch Tom right before that, soft features help bring his innocence into play... and probably stabbing Harry's tortured heart.**

**Anyways, I know it's a bit late, but here's my post for the day-**

* * *

><p><strong>~*The Time Wayfarer*~<strong>

**~The Slumbering Beauty~**

**~*.*~**

Grimmauld Place:

In the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, Harry stares down at the wraith-like boy with mixed feelings raging inside. Half of him is gibbering madly that this is some sort of plot and Tom is really _Voldemort_ in disguise. The other side is stubbornly logical in its defense of a human life in need. Maybe if things back in the alley had played out a bit differently, like if Tom had attacked _him_ first or something, then he'd be more inclined to listen to the paranoid part of his brain whispering for him to hand the Slytherin heir over to Aurors right this instant. A disgusted frown twists Harry's face at the very idea.

Snatching a folded blanket at the foot of the bed, Harry unravels it and lays it over Tom's form. _'He's really more attractive when he's asleep... like some sort of cursed princess.' _Snorting in amusement Harry shakes his head. Comparing Riddle to a harmless slumbering beauty is like finding similarities between a cute bunny and a fire-breathing dragon. _'I'd rather take the fire-breathing dragon on again then telling him something like that!' _About to turn away, he hesitates and moves forward to untie Tom's scuffed leather shoes.

"Uh, Harry? What are you doing?"

"Making him more comfortable."

"Why?"

Harry slows to a stop, holding one shoe in his hand, the leather old but well cared for by its owner. _'Why am I helping Riddle?'_

"I'm sure he won't mind Harry. Anyways, _who_ is he?"

"Ravenclaw, muggleborn, very shy." He says automatically, keeping to the same story he told Mrs. Weasley. Over and over he's been repeating the words in his head to help him not forget the lie, but each time he thinks it while looking at the unconscious boy, the easier it is being in Tom's company. Which in itself is very dangerous… _'If I forget who he is, innocent or not, Tom won't hesitate it use it against me somehow.'_

Slowly Harry places the shoe on the ground, then works on the thin laces to the next.

"Oh, well, what's his _name,_ Harry?"

"Uh," _'Crap, Ron and Hermione know the name Tom Marvolo Riddle from back in Second Year!' _Usually Ron wouldn't be so observant unless something pertains to him directly, and since Harry is his friend and happens to know someone Ron doesn't remember, it's sort of a red flag. Ron would go to Hermione and tell her, then the intelligent girl will put two-and-two together. What now though? He had already told Mrs. Weasley that Tom's surname is Riddle… _'Er, maybe something fairly close? I'd just tell her I made a mistake.'_ "Thomas… Ripper."

"Ripper?"

"Yeah." He puts the second shoe beside the first one and glances up to the rest of the room. The only spare one left resides on the top floor, Sirius' late brother Regulus' room. Even if a mini-version of Voldemort is so close to his godfather, Harry knows that the man can take care of himself _and_ keep an eye on Tom. _'Besides… he'll like this room.'_

Decorated with old pureblood furniture of dark woods, several accent colors of silver and green bring a very Slytherin feel to the bedroom. A few strange oddities line the windowsill, a collection of rare magical beetles and snake skin are housed in separate glass cases, and the old bookcase is filled with books of a dark theme. Now that Harry is eyeing the room a chill sweeps up his spine. On the walls are hundreds of articles relating to Dark Lord Voldemort's fame and terror.

Immediately Harry marches over to them and starts to pull and tear down the newspaper clippings.

"Harry lets go. Snape's going to arrive any minute now and I don't want to be here when he does."

"Hold on." He stacks the papers together and shoves them in a drawer at a dust covered desk. Knowing that it's only delaying the inevitable, Harry closes the drawer and turns away, glancing at Tom. _'It's almost painful to see him this way…'_

"Hey, you okay?" Ron asks as his green-eyed friend joins him at the door. Since his best mate arrived with the other boy Harry hasn't once let go of the Ripper kid. It's only been a full minute and Ron can see that Harry wants to go back and sit by the unconscious teen's side. His red eyebrows climb into his hairline.

"Yeah… yeah I'm fine."

"Well, come on to the kitchen. Mum needs help with the dinner party and I'm starving enough to try and swipe a roll or two before it begins."

Harry smirks, "Thinking with your stomach?"

"When am I not?"

"Indeed," Snape's sudden voice makes both boys jump in fright, Ron blinking owlishly like a deer caught in headlights. "When are you not Mr. Weasley?"

Ron gapes for a moment and is calmly pushed aside as the Potions Professor stalks into the room. Harry barely steps away in time for the man not to pummel him into the doorway.

"You may both leave now."

Harry falters, looking between the boy and man. _'I can't leave Tom alone with him, what if Snape figures out I've been lying?!'_"Sir, I want to be here if he wakes up."

"How _endearing_," Snape sneers at him. "Get. Out."

* * *

><p>Somewhere in Knockturn Alley:<p>

Night settles over the vast maze of twisting and loathsome passages. Further from the main streets, where lanterns hang burning with fairy-fire, the stars are able to twinkle freely from above.

In an alley, which is relatively clean from the usual litter of cast off trash, stands a cloaked figure shrouded in shadows. Hood resting on his shoulders, the features of a male in his prime contemplates on the dirt road. Mismatched eyes stare up at winking stars, before lowering to examine a random wall before him.

A sigil, large and covering a good portion of the wall meets his orbs. Long strokes of black substance, having stained the whited bricks of the building for years, look decidedly daemonic and menacing in origin. One massive circular glyph houses an array of smaller symbols scrawled in some unidentified pattern, flowing together in an unknown meaning.

The silent male, once alone, is now joined suddenly by another…

Slithering from the darkness, a serpent approaches closely and rises to flick a tongue at the other. _"Sai sivlas, I have been ssearching evverywhere ffor you!"_

"_Sivlas.' _That handsome face turns to acknowledge the other, speaking between _slaehyjls_ and olden Parseltongue, _"Lux von? Have you been treating yourselff well?"_

"_Ssss! Sai von husus! I have waited ffor too long! It angerss mee! Havve you chosen thhiss time?"_

"_Nunu," _he shrugs a shoulder casually, _"I wass disappointed thhat I could not find hoxlas in the last place I ssearched. I wanted to sseee him ass a child, but maybee it iss better in thiss period."_

"_You could have visited hoxlas at thhe height of power… 1970 yess?"_

"_Ah," _the humanoid male lets a smile tug at the side of his lips, _"thhen I would not have met haelas…"_

"_Ssss… you'vve met haelas already?"_

"_Ses," _he nods, that smile becoming larger, _"he'ss like I imagined and more. A person withh a sstrong ssense of justice but ffilled withh righteouss ffury controlled by thhe wizard Dumbledore…"_

"_Sa! He'ss just a veshlyn to mee."_

The male jolts his neck forward in warning, an angry hiss rising at the back of his throat as his lips part to reveal twin venomous teeth extending from pink gums. Pale scales around his mismatched eyes shimmer from glowing orbs.

The serpent jerks back in surprise, lowering its head in submission. _"Sai silvas fossa."_

Gradually those hooked teeth sheath themselves and he lets the anger melt off his face, though the air is still filled with tension. _"As I wass ssaying. Wee need to find a way to ffreee haelas ffrom thhiss Dumbledore and get hoxlas to seee reason, before our time iss up."_

"_Do you havve any ideass?"_

Instead of a smile returning, those wicked lips smirk. _"Ses…"_

The sound of russling further down the street draws their attention. Several yowls from several feline species becomes louder, two kneazle's are fighting for territory.

"_Ah," _the snake hisses in joy, _"ssupper…"_

The nameless male stares after the pale serpent as it slithers after its next meal. Under the light of the moon he catches the sight of a metal collar shimmering from around the snake's neck. His head drops and he raises his left arm to peer at an exact copy of the metal band wrapped around his own wrist, the large cursive letters reading:

_Malfoy Industries_

* * *

><p>Grimmauld Place:<p>

Harry lurks in the Entrance Hall, in all definition of the word… prowling from one end to the next and waiting for Snape's sallow face to make an appearance. The study where the Professor set up a miniature lab is just at the end of the hall, so whenever the man descends from above, Harry can catch the dungeon bat before he slips into the office.

Several people have passed him already, exchanging pleasantries and asking questions about Mr. _Ripper's_ presence. Hermione has approached him twice already, once greeting him when exiting the study with Ginny, and then again to hound him about this supposed _Ravenclaw _she hasn't ever heard of. Perceptive as ever. Even Sirius and Remus stopped him from pacing a trench into the floor to have a conversation on 'how Harry feels about Tom', he hasn't the foggiest idea what those two were really talking about. Their overly understanding looks and shifting bodies put him on edge even further. Are they onto him about lying? Surprisingly, out of anyone at Grimmauld, Mad-Eye Moody doesn't seem at all disturbed with Tom sleeping above them… but maybe that's more due to that 'all seeing eye' glance up every now and then.

"Harry!" Hermione walks up the steps, "Come on down here and get something to eat. We've already started without you."

"I'm fine, I just want to wait a little bit-"

She grabs his arm and starts dragging him down the staircase. "Really Harry, Thomas will be fine! You need to eat to keep your own strength up, and besides," Hermione cringes, "Ron will scarf down your share if you don't _hurry_."

Unable to tell the curly haired girl that he just isn't hungry, Harry lets out a sigh and enters the madness of the dinner party.

Several Order members are standing around eating off a plates or leaning over the table snatching more food, since there aren't any more seats left.

Mrs. Weasley has taken residence at the head of the table, forcing Ron to sit close so that she can croon over the badge she forced him to put on for her. Ronald, not one to mind a bit of overzealous pride, keeps flashing the badge at his twin brothers who are whispering about 'revenge' further down the table. Beside them, Tonks keeps flashing a winning smile at Remus who is on her other side.

She seems quite pleased with the seating and keeps inching closer and closer into the werewolf's space. Her voice is cheery and as mischievous as her neighbors whilst she tries to engage Remus in conversation. Those wild locks changing from aqua, to orange, to yellow, to red, to purple and back again.

Poor Remus keeps glancing across the mound of food and drinks to Sirius opposite him with an expression of confusion and silent pleas. His best mate, used to puppy dog eyes, only smirks wolfishly at his dilemma.

Several of the older Weasley males have taken to standing so that Andromeda and Mrs. Longbottom can sit near Mrs. Weasley, the women bicker about the wizarding world's state of affairs. Neville, nestled between his over-protective grandmother and Sirius, keeps snickering under his breath when the older man mimics his grandmother's scathing comments about 'so and so should have married…' and getting caught several times as those narrowed eyes glare over her grandson's head at Sirius.

Even with all the people gathered together, not every is here in the kitchen. People shift in the room and Harry gives a wave to those calling out to him with smiles. He adds some food to a plate and picks at it near the far wall with Moody. Charlie tries to say more than a couple sentences, but Harry's mind is elsewhere as he stuffs food quickly into his mouth. Then, in a calculative move, Harry deposits his plate and grabs another –loading it with food. Maybe if he shows up with something for Tom to eat, Snape will let him in.

"You're not going to stay longer, Harry?" Tonks speaks up as Harry is trying to fill a cup from a giggling pitcher that keeps pulling the handle from his grasp.

"Ah, no. I want to take Thomas something…"

"Oh yeah?" She winks at him, "You should tell that scowling man to come get something too."

"Uh! Not Snivellus. I don't want him down here." Sirius grumbles, stabbing a sausage from his plate of bangers and mash.

"Snape has already left." Remus says and turns away from Sirius' grin to Harry's surprise, "He left through the drawing room on the first floor back to Hogwarts a while ago actually."

Feeling a bit stupid, Harry thanks the man and grabs both plate and drink. Pointedly ignoring Hermione's arched brow he takes two steps before Mrs. Weasley's voice cuts across the kitchen.

"Harry, where are you going?"

"Er," He feels a flush climb his cheeks as everyone stares his way, "just going to check up on Thomas and take him something to eat."

"Mr. Rid-I mean Ripper?"

Harry nods quickly, frowning at Hermione's perplexed eyes. _'She noticed her slip!'_

"Don't worry about it Harry," Mrs. Weasley continues with a smile, "I already sent Ginny up with a plate, dear."

Something clicks in the back of his head, and Harry's chest fills with dread. "Ginny?"

And then a blood curdling scream pierces the air.

**~*.*~**

**~End Chapter~**

* * *

><p><strong>Jeez Harry, I can't believe you forgot that Ginny knows what Tom Riddle looks like too...<strong>

**Harry: -.- shuddap.**

**Anyways if anyone was wondering about this so called Parseltongue language _slaehyjls, _yes I made up a whole freaking language of my own dedicated to the snake's tongue. When I get the chance, I'll post every darn word I use in my story on my profile page (sometime later this week). It's quite lovely if I do say so myself, and I happen to use it in real life, (my children are going to turn out weird with hissing lisps... sighhhh). So far, hopefully you'll be able to get the jist of what they were saying to each other. _Hysh!_**


End file.
